You Only Tell The Truth
by Yuilhan
Summary: Life would eventually move on, though Izuku Midoriya and his Quirk would always be one step ahead of the fates of both himself and those around him. The only problem was that no one believed him when he tried to help.
1. Cassandra, Cassandra

**You Only Tell The Truth**

* * *

 _1\. Cassandra, Cassandra_

* * *

When Izuku Midoriya is four, he is told that he will never have a Quirk.

Poor Izuku is still shocked by the Doctor's statement hours later; he's sat on his desk chair, the cold pleather thawing against his trembling skin, while his mother comforts him over not being able to become a Hero. Their tears mingle as she pulls him close to her body and wraps her arms about him tightly – just as he'd expected she would.

It wasn't the sense of crushing defeat that had shaken him, so much as the fact that he'd seen the whole event – how he'd trip over his laces going down the hallway to the consultation room, the x-ray machine sounding funny, his All Might Figure slipping from his fingers, and the finite diagnosis and dismissal of his worth as a person – prior to these events actually happening. Izuku had literally seen it all play out before his eyes five minutes before they entered the hospital's lobby, and then had sat numbly through them each moment again. His skin prickled with a feeling of _wrongness,_ but at the same time it was all too familiar and _right_.

His mother believed that he was only moping over the loss of his dream; she did her best to cheer him with his favourite foods, reruns the anime he liked best, and even letting him stay up a little past his bedtime to watch the news when they returned home. Izuku liked to keep note of the major Villain and Hero battles that had happened, even at his young age; Inko was always amused when her son could predict who would win the fight onscreen.

Naturally, it was the hero, but Izuku would call it far earlier the news announcer or the played footage. Izuku, when older, would look back on those memories. He wouldn't be sure if knowing the outcomes of the fights on the news was a given, or whether the Doctor had been totally wrong.

He sees sparks dance by his shoulder – Kacchan's fault, no doubt – the next day in kindergarten, and sure enough Katsuki Bakugou's hands light up and smack his skin as soon as they're dismissed for playtime. Kacchan's words are always the same, no matter how much Izuku protests.

 _Quirkless. Crybaby. Useless. Freak._

Izuku hates it when Kacchan and the rest of the children turn away from him, but there's nothing he can do to stop their teasing. Their words cut deep, but Izuku's protests and pleas for them to believe he isn't Quirkless going unnoticed cuts far deeper. Life would eventually move on, though Izuku Midoriya and his Quirk would always be one step ahead of the fates of both himself and those around him.

The only problem was that no one believed him when he tried to help.

* * *

At thirteen, Izuku is old enough for his mother not to worry so much about him. He's tried over the years to convince people about his Quirk, to little avail, so she was still overbearingly protective on occasion.

He was her only child, her protectiveness was warranted. His 'Quirkless' status, however, had her wrapping him up in cotton wool for most of Izuku's childhood.

Of course no one would believe the pathetic Quirkless child, who was so desperate for recognition amongst his peers that he fabricated stories. Some of his classmates found it 'freaky' – their words, not his – whenever Izuku helpfully told them to try and avoid certain areas of the city on their way home, not to get the curry from the cafeteria that lunchtime, or even putting his hundred-yen's worth into a discussion about what the result of a major cliff hanger meant when the newest episode of a drama aired that evening.

They would scoff and roll their eyes; tell him to back off and butt out of their business. When Izuku's predictions and advice turned out to be true, they wouldn't thank him for his efforts or excitedly discuss how he knew what would happen. They would call it a coincidence and move on.

Izuku had since learnt that unless he could help with minor emergencies, he shouldn't open his mouth and speak of what he saw in advance. No one believed that he had a Quirk, so why would they believe he had good intentions?

His mother demands he carry his phone with him at all times, should he need it. Inko Midoriya knows her son well – hidden Quirk aside. Izuku gets distracted frequently; his focus ranges from hyper vigilantly documenting the Quirks of Heroes and Villains one minute, to being dazed – as though he walked through his day dreams or saw things others did not – the next. At first Izuku finds this condition of his mother's tedious, but now that he's older and allowed to roam the city afterschool without her fearing him being run over, all because he wasn't paying attention to the road (it had come close to that before, when a vision hit him in the middle of a crossing) he doesn't mind the fussing so much.

Now the phone is a useful tool. It's been upgraded through the years from a fairly basic flip-phone, with just enough money placed on it for simple distress calls or reassuring texts to his panicked mother, to a sleek touchscreen that he can be trusted not to lose or drop. Izuku knew the expensive phone was being gifted to him a month or so in advance, so discreetly pooled his allowance together a week prior to Inko dropping the gift bag in his hands in order to buy the sturdiest case he could find, and a tough screen protector too.

Four hours after setting the phone up and placing the extra protection on without his mother noticing, she sends him to the store on a quick errand. The phone slips out of his hand as he trudges down the apartment block's stairs, but there's no signs of cracking, scratches or dints on it when he hurriedly checks the device over.

The case had been a good idea.

The new phone's wide, vibrant screen displays the time in large lettering unlike his last one. He'd even found an application with a clock that ran like a stopwatch, precisely ticking off the points-of-a-second rather than just the regular minutes and hours.

Izuku is meandering through the city, trying to make his way home. The clock on his phone reads 17:43:59 – no, 17:44PM. He places the device back into his pocket with a despondent sigh. There has been a distinct lack of Villain activity today. Nothing notable for him to write down; the new phone allows him to make notes and back them up onto the computer at home. It was far superior to handwriting everything in notebooks like he did when he was younger; there was less to go wrong and no deciphering his sprawling handwriting at the end of the day.

Izuku feels the skin at the back of his neck go cold. He suppresses a shiver as he stands by a crossing, waiting for the green walking man signal to appear on the lights. He pulls his phone from his trouser pocket and stares intently at the clock on the home screen. The whirring numbers are transfixing to watch after what his eyes have just witnessed.

This part of the city is quiet. Workers and school students are either already home or staying out later – thus missing the lull of activity before rush hour began. One other person waits at the crossing with Izuku. Their skin is flushed, the sleeves of their suit jacket scrunched. The man beside Izuku has a bad habit of pushing up his shirtsleeves then, possibly when he's agitated or stressed; he'd done it to his suit jacket unconsciously. The man is red-faced and huffing out short restless breaths.

 _Is he angry, in a rush, or both?_ Izuku wonders.

All of Izuku's guesses are correct, though he's not to know that. The man's knuckles are white from how hard he grips his briefcase handle; the wedding ring on his hand is basking in the flushed, bloody hue of his fisted fingers. He shifts restlessly from foot to foot, like a sprinter settling into the blocks before a race.

The man is in a hurry. This man should really calm down and look both ways before he strides across the road, even if he's preoccupied with other things, like rage. Izuku's eyes flick back to his phone. The pedestrian signal turns to green. There are no cars waiting behind the now red lights, so it should be safe to walk across.

Izuku has ten seconds to act.

The angry man tugs his briefcase close to his side before he steps out onto the crossing – _Eight –_ Izuku grabs hold of the back of his suit jacket – _Five_ _–_ despite the man's best and enraged efforts to shake the strange middle schooler off, he is tugged back to the pavement where the two had been stood only moments prior.

The man drops his briefcase in surprise. "What do you think you're-"

Further up the street, a distracted driver hits a small but significant oil spill. In the confusion of the car's resulting skid, the driver panics and hits the accelerator instead of the break peddle. _– Three –_ The car careers about the road, spinning past the crossing until it finally collides with a bollard on the other side of the street the car would initially be driving on.

Had Izuku not held the man back, he would have been taken along with the car.

The outcome would not have been a pretty sight for anyone to behold.

 _– Zero –_

"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you. You looked as though you were in a hurry." Izuku murmurs a polite apology, offers the startled, gaping man (who's face is now bone white instead of angry red) a sincere bow, and then crosses the road as though nothing had happened at all.

Later, when he'd finished his science homework and finally logged onto his computer to check if the notes on his phone had been backed up, Izuku would check the local news webpage and find that the only thing significantly damaged in the accident was the car.

He breathes a tiny sigh of relief, powers down the computer, and calls it a night.


	2. They Think It's A Lie You Told

**You Only Tell The Truth**

* * *

 _2\. They Think It's A Lie You Told_

* * *

When Izuku is eight, his mother takes him to the library.

Inko worried that her son didn't interact a great deal with his peer group. Izuku didn't communicate with anyone outside of herself and the occasional adult who asked him a question. He didn't even invite friends home from school or went on playdates anymore, and Inko's motherly sensibilities were screaming that she should do something. While books aren't a replacement for human interaction, they were a gateway to something creative. Inko hoped books could be something for Izuku to look forward to outside of Heroes and Villains and coming home only to sit in his room alone; that he could find friends and support in inked pages and learn from there.

The library wasn't all that great. It was a neglected public service compared to several Quirk-orientated facilities in the area, but somehow it remained open. The books were neat and orderly despite being old and tattered, and the staff were never judging to those who visited. For that, Inko was thankful. Izuku so desperately believed he had a Quirk, and Inko knew children's imaginations should be indulged… but the Doctor had clearly denounced any possibility of her son inheriting her or Hisashi's power. It was wrong of her to encourage Izuku to fabricate a Quirk for himself, but it was also wrong for her to hurt him too.

What kind of mother wants to dash her child's hopes and dreams to pieces, after all?

So she takes him to the library and sets him loose in the children's section, hoping that he'll dash right over to the Hero stories and comic books. They never fail to make Izuku smile, even if he has the plot worked out three pages in.

However, Izuku surprises her – bypassing the comics and fiction books altogether. He roots through the section dedicated solely to fairy tales and mythology with the intent of a child tearing through layers of sand on the beach. You have to dig deep to find the perfect sand for building castles, of course, and the stacks of ragged library books are no exception. Izuku flips open a book he eventually finds, fingers skimming along the context page until he discovers a chapter he wants to read.

Inko peers over her son's shoulder. The heading of the chapter reads 'Cassandra', and a vague recollection of the name has her frowning. Izuku likes Heroes and Quirks, so why was he reading about Greek Mythology? And why that myth in particular? Sure, Odysseus' decade-long journey wasn't exactly prime reading material for eight-year-olds, but the heroism and adventure would keep Izuku entertained over other tales. When she asks why he's picked that chapter over many others, he shrugs and simply says that it looks interesting.

Directing her son to some of the battered beanbag chairs scattered through the children's area, she leaves him to read in peace while she gathers some books for herself. Hisashi has been gone longer than anticipated, and Inko gets lonely sometimes for a type affection that Izuku _definitely_ can't provide. Satisfied with the steamy stack of romance novels she's compiled, Inko returns to collect Izuku; only to find him floods of tears. She drops her books and scoops Izuku into her arms, pulling him from the beanbag chair to the brightly printed rug on the floor.

"It's s-so-" Izuku sucks in a breath as he sobs, and he fists his small hands into the front of her cardigan. "It's so sad, Mama!"

"What's sad sweetheart?" She asks in return.

The look in her son's eyes as he responds will haunt Inko forever. "No one b-believes her. They a-all think Cassie _lies_."

The words 'Just like me' go unspoken.

* * *

Visions were strange things that Izuku had generally just learnt to put up with throughout the years. Often they arrived well in advance – sometimes up to five months in advance – and other times they could happen a split second before the future came to pass.

The early visions weren't always helpful either. No impending doom for pedestrians being hit by cars, major Villain attacks, or catastrophic events would appear and cloud Izuku's eyes, but rather the simple things in life. Such as knowing not what to put for the answer on a test when he could clearly see the result a week prior, skirting around one neighbourhood because Izuku was likely to get gum stuck to his shoe on precisely three months next Tuesday, and even seeing that his mother was going to make his favourite for dinner on his birthday.

(The latter was an entirely useless vision, because she always made his favourite without fail.)

There were days when he went visionless, but visionless days were a double-edged sword. They were blessed and rare, but also invoked a primal sort of terror within him; like he'd been sent out into the world stripped bare of a weapon and asked to battle a monster blindfolded. If he'd been at home, safe in his room and ignorant to the world, a day without visions would be enjoyable. If a visionless day coincided with school and Izuku's daily commute however, it was a living nightmare.

One of the perks of visionless days, despite how exposed they made Izuku feel at times, was that without frequent apparitions plaguing him there would be no headaches or migraines. If a day packed full of visions was especially trying and straining on his eyesight, Izuku would just forgo dinner with his mother and lie in his room with the curtains firmly shut.

Inko probably thought it was just him being a typical teenager, or still being hung up on his Quirklessness and not accepting who he was. The truth of the matter was that the evening sunlight was enough to pain his fatigued eyes. The darkened room and comfort of his All Might bedsheets were familiar and relaxing, allowing his tired mind to unwind.

Izuku has seen and stopped many horrors from occurring in his short fourteen years of life, all from minute actions on his part. Nobody would believe him still, even after all these years, so he kept the gruesome details between himself and the darkened room. They'd only say he'd lied or cart him off to the nearest psychiatric ward if he decided to share.

What Izuku saw wasn't exactly what the movies and books traditionally depicted for Seers – there were no touching analepsis scenes that delved into a character's entire past and future, nor any blurring jump cuts of premonitions or overwhelming feelings of dread emancipated from skin to skin contact. There were, instead, spectres of people and places. Pathways of fate that overlapped in layers of probability like an onion skin, which varied in opacity. The layer with most likely outcome held the strongest tangibility and colour, with the weakest line of fate appearing as mere outline etchings.

Sometimes there were more than one path fate could take present in Izuku's visions, and, to a certain point, they would intersect one another before dancing away down different routes in Izuku's eyes like a kaleidoscope of chaos. The moment when fate split into four or more possibilities was the moment Izuku to broke out the aspirin; things got very confusing with four or more pathways, and it all became a bit too much for him to process. Anything less than that he could handle just fine.

Today Izuku's fate was split into two paths. His teacher prattled on about applications for high schools, scattering the application forms like confetti as his classmates jeered. Izuku placed his head into his hands. His fingers trembled; nails clenching into the skin of his forehead.

If his fate was split in two, and two pathways were usually manageable to Izuku, then why did it hurt so much? The sharp lancing pain behind his eyes didn't release even after he scrunched up his face and squinted, or when he lowered his head onto the desk and slipped down unkemptly in his seat. Pain like this turned him into a stuttering mess – there was no coherency beyond the fleeting visions, and it only served to alienate him further from his peers.

Izuku watches as the two paths become converged, layered over the top of one another until he can't tell which is the less plausible track to follow.

Suddenly, one path darkens.

Izuku crushes his left eye closed, hissing as the pain he'd felt before intensifies. The second path is not to be followed.

The second path will kill him – of his own volition – though it's not as if the first of the two is any better.

He'd prefer not to choke to death on a sludge Villain that afternoon. His mother is making katsudon tonight, and he'd never forgive himself if he missed that – dead or alive.

Izuku's not entirely sure why the fates would present the second path to him at all. Ever since Kacchan (he should really start calling him Bakugou, what with their lack of civility, but it amused Izuku to no end with how it rubs the blond teen the wrong way) made sure Izuku's pleas would be useless for the entirety of his childhood – and therein cut him off from ever making friends the normal way – Izuku had largely kept to himself.

There was no need to build yourself up, meddle with a new acquaintance's fate, only to be turned away. So why bother when people only think that he lies? There was no use stuttering to speak to someone in vain, so why stutter at all when you could just be silent?

Izuku's sure he hasn't spoken to Kacchan in months, let alone been bullied by the teen. No, the bullying stopped when Izuku decided he no longer cared to play up to Katsuki Bakugou's behaviour; the sparking palms striking his skin and the beatings soon ceased. Izuku could see how his whimpers – soft pleadings for Kacchan to believe him, to acknowledge his Quirk – only introduced more pain into his life. From then on, he made sure to keep his mouth welded shut whenever Bakugou turned on him.

Unsurprisingly, there's no fun for a bully in targeting an unresponsive victim.

Until the teacher opens their mouth and offers Izuku Midoriya up like bait for Katsuki Bakugou. The blond is furious from the discovery that 'Quirkless Deku' was applying for Yūei; his hands crackle in anticipation, swivelling in his seat to stare down Izuku.

The latter is too distracted to care for Bakugou's hurtful words and promises of pain to follow later; too preoccupied with what both visions mean to take note of how Kacchan has broken his streak for trying to ignore him all because of one carless sentence on the teacher's part.

The second vision depicted Izuku writing in a notebook, one marked as 'Hero Analysis For The Future #13', and he knows this is what could have been, because he hasn't used notebooks in ages. They're too easily damaged and discarded, as the vision clearly showed. Too easily discovered and used to humiliate him further also, which was probably why he pitched himself off the school's roof in the second vision.

The second vision, Izuku decides, is his Quirk letting him off with a warning. The second pathway was one he could – and probably would – have taken had his Quirk not have been present; and had he not been strong enough to keep on pushing through life, despite being branded a liar and pathetic even though he has a Quirk, Izuku may have followed that path too.

Only, instead of the notebook, it's a smartphone plunging from the school window; cracking against the concrete below. Unlike the notebook, the phone is too heavy to gently float to relative safety.

Suicide is messy for every individual involved; whether it's the one who has lost their life, the first people to respond to the scene, or the families who have lost a loved one. Izuku has Seen and stopped them from happening before, and now he had witnessed what could have been his own demise. Thankfully the vision cut out before he hit the ground – which was why his skull ached fiercely after everything went dark – and he hadn't had to witness his mother's future without him there beside her.

Izuku was glad the second of the two fates was not to be his. He couldn't bare to leave his mother in that way.

As he'd found Seen before though, the first vision was not much better. For now, there were multiple pathways; some where his path lead to greatness, other to ruin, and some in humble anonymity. Unless he could directly influence it, like how he prevented the business man from being ploughed over by an out of control car only a year ago, fate was rarely ever adaptable.

Izuku had Seen his fate for the next few months play out for now – he knew what to expect. He hadn't given up on becoming a Hero, he just wasn't going to be the mighty Hero he'd dreamt up as a child. Izuku would have to get creative, play it sneaky – like an underground Hero – and more importantly, he'd have to learn that he wouldn't be able to save everyone.

Fate liked to throw others under the metaphorical bus to compensate for any significant meddling.

He would also have to taste the bitter tang of unrecognised efforts. No one was yet to believe he wasn't Quirkless, so why would they ever think that him helping them (like the business man of so long ago) was anything more than pure coincidence? It was almost the same as giving up his dream altogether; settling for a mundane life over one of heroics, all because he'd never get anywhere without the tiniest slither of support and belief behind his actions.

However, owning up to his deeds would be the same as trying to paint himself a liar. Izuku was partway there, if Bakugou had done his job right. Playing the long game, playing smart, proving them all wrong – proving them that it wasn't just a lie he'd told. That was what Izuku's fate so far installed. Because he'd played nice with destiny over the years, there were relatively few bumps and scrapes to be had along the way also.

With the second of two paths diminished, only the first remained. It did not branch into smaller pathways; walking underneath the bridge on his way home was unavoidable. Izuku would only end up there anyway even if he tried to bypass it altogether.

So it looked all the likely that he would near choke to death in a few hours. With a sigh, Izuku resigned himself to it all; rubbing at his throat distractedly as the end-of-day school bell rand while Bakugou bared down into his face. The blond hissed and spat his bile words, trying to intimidate him, but Izuku was beyond caring.

He also needed to buy a roll of duct tape. Specifically, one that was bright pink and bunny-patterned, weirdly. Izuku was used to strange compulsions influencing him out of the blue because of a vision, but if his Sight thought pink bunny tape was important, then he'd happily purchase it. It might just brighten his life before the inevitable choking too.

Still, he'd get All Might's autograph out of this mess and be able to walk away without a scratch – albeit with a healthy aversion to the slime putty that was becoming a fad for children and adults alike.

* * *

Sure enough, Izuku is heaving sludge from his lungs not long after school ends and he's purchased the tape from a small art store.

All Might appears in his resplendent, grinning glory to save the day; pats Izuku's face until he wakes, and then flings himself back as teen almost lands a perfect hurl of slime and bile on the number one Hero's shoes.

"That was worse than what I'd seen," Izuku huffs quietly, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his gakuran. Black and slime really aren't a great combination, and his mum will surely interrogate him about the mess. She _will_ press for details on whether it was just unlucky happenstance or something else, a fact that terrifies him to no end because Izuku knows the truth will only worry her more.

"What?" All Might questions.

"What?" Izuku echoes, all too innocently. They stare at one another awkwardly for a few moments. The sludge Villain All Might had been chasing down jiggles inside multiple soda bottles, nearly loosening the cap of the bottle which held them prisoner.

All Might slaps his hand over the top of the container hurriedly.

"Do you want some tape for that?" Izuku inquires.

"That would be mighty helpful," the Hero replies. Izuku withdraws the tape from his backpack, along with a blank leaf of paper and a marker pen.

He offers All Might the pen and paper. "Could I be cheeky and…?"

"Say no more," the Hero replies, scrawling his signature and then eying the patterned strips of tape Izuku hands him. Izuku utters a thank you, placing the signed paper and the tape back into his bag.

That really should be the end of it. All Might should hop away into the sky and deposit the Villain safely into Police custody, and Izuku should go home and eat a quiet dinner with his mother; ducking his head sheepishly while she scolds him about the slime on his uniform.

So why doesn't Izuku want this to end?

"Well, time is of the essence. Thank you for the… _tape_ ," All Might's grin wavers as he eyes the bunny-taped soda bottle in his trouser pocket. Fate is screaming at Izuku not to do it – multiple visons, far too many for Izuku to handle, collide before his eyes, none of them good – yet he still grabs hold of All Might's leg as the Hero launches himself into the sky. "Hey! What do you think you're- _let go!"_

Through the panic of his blurred eyesight and the pressure the wind creates against his mouth, Izuku's reply is strangely calm. "If I let go now, I _will_ die."

(He will. That line of fate is cancelled when All Might thankfully agrees and safely lands the two of them in an alleyway between two office buildings.)

Still dazed from the diversion of fate, Izuku rubs at his temples.

"If that's all, then I really must go-" All Might says, hand attempting to pat the pocket containing the trapped Villain.

Only, the pocket is empty.

The visions lash at Izuku again; he hisses and collapses to his knees in the dingey alley. Each of the layers of possibility combine, building and building in intensity until only one pathway remains. This has never happened before – probably because up until five minutes ago, Izuku had always complied to the assigned pathways – and the teen is not sure what that means for him.

Has he forever changed something or created far too many new problems for him to handle?

"Are you okay, boy?" All Might queries, but the tense lines of his body imply he'd rather be tracking down that Villain again before things got ugly. Izuku agrees and waves the Hero off; his questions can wait, because they will meet again.

The clout of multiple explosions sound in the distance, and All Might dashes away. Izuku wobbles in his attempt to stand, and shakily follows the sounds of destruction. He knows what they mean – what they entail.

He can See it all.

Only one future awaits Izuku currently, all because of one selfish and silly action. Now he just has to hang tight and watch the future he's unwittingly influenced unfurl before his eyes. _Again_.

Perhaps, in another of fate's pathways, Izuku would redeem himself; racing in to save the day and Katsuki Bakugou – the latter being who he has just resigned to a potential sludgy end should All Might not reach him in time. Now all Izuku can do is stand at the side lines while All Might powers through the amassed spectators and flailing first-response Heroes. He's too late to influence his own destiny back to what it was; to any semblance of becoming a perfect, if somewhat anonymous, Hero.

While it is amazing to witness the Sludge Villain destroyed with a single punch, all Izuku can focus on is the crimson gaze of Katsuki Bakugou.

There is _terror_ in those eyes. _Recognition_. Then _loathing_.

Kacchan has seen him stood there. Kacchan has seen him not even attempt to help – has seen Izuku undeniably turn his back on his childhood dream of being a Hero and become another member of the crowd gawking and transfixed over another's suffering. With the Quirkless misunderstanding or not, the Izuku Kacchan knew would almost always step in to help – because that was what Izuku did. He meddled with people's lives and shaped them for the better. Infuriatingly, Izuku had always been Hero material.

Now though, in failing to race to Kacchan's rescue – through selfishly stretching out his hands and failing to let go – Izuku's affirmed what the blond had always thought.

 _Quirkless._

 _Useless._

Now Katsuki can add 'Coward' to the list.

Izuku Midoriya has sealed his fate. It is too late to change paths now.

* * *

 **Not going to lie, I was a little afraid when I checked my email inbox this morning and saw all of the reviews and follows for this story. Nothing like this has really ever happened so intensely for my stories before in so short a time, so I'm still a little shocked even hours later.**

 **Still, here's chapter two. Not sure when the next one will arrive, because I've got my final exam coming up. Three hours of Shakespearian hell. Yay.**

 **A HUUUUUUGE thank you to everyone who's followed, favourited and reviewed this story so far!**

 _Guest_ – **Tense is always something I struggle with when writing, but in this case I think it's kind of a happy accident? You can't always tell where Izuku's life is currently, or if it's the past or a vision. (Kinda sounds like a cop-out for shitty writing, but y'know, I'm trying. This was something I wrote on a whim, so it's not going to be super polished either.)**

 _Lokilust_ – **Glad I could be of assistance? I recently read a one-shot fic on A03 called 'Refraction' by ekourege that covers similar concepts. It's short but worth checking out!**

* * *

 **EDIT 13/5/2018: Thank you to FF user **_Silversun XD_ **for notifying me about a gaping hole in the plot. I'd posted an earlier version of the chapter without meaning to; got caught up in some salty Eurovision commentary, thought I'd plugged the aforementioned gaps, and published Chapter Two anyway.**

 **This is the revised version. Sorry for any confusion, and thank you again for your support!**


	3. We Two Could Conspire --

**You Only Tell The Truth**

* * *

 _3._ _We Two Could Conspire, And Make Them Listen_

* * *

The next ten months were filled with agony.

Izuku no longer had control of his Sight. It was there, demonstrating multiple pathways like usual, but now his actions had immediate consequences. There was no longer a simple way to meddle with fate and come out of the minute alternations unscathed.

If Izuku chose to rescue an overly adventurous kitten from the tallest tree branches, he'd condemn a family of four to burn in their apartment. If he instead chose to call the emergency services, he'd have to watch the cat plummet to the sidewalk. To save the family from smoke inhalation and halt the spreading fire before it claimed other lives in the surrounding apartment complex, but break a child's heart over the loss of their first pet; this was the path Izuku had to walk now between what was a moral prioritisation or a simple altruistic act.

The visions had presented themselves in this dual manner since his selfish slip; a constant cataclysmic barrage that left a bitter taste in Izuku's mouth no matter the choice he made.

And it was important he made the choice.

Ignoring potential pathways was akin to walking along a type rope made of barbed wire. If you didn't tip either side of the tightly strung wire, you were liable to prick your feet along the way. Wobbling and falling off to the side often felt the safest thing to do, despite the consequence, because the long stretching wire only continued and continued and continued. It waited – _wanted –_ Izuku to fall.

How many children had he seen crying now because of his actions? How many lives had he saved through prioritising multiple lives over another's happiness?

The relief he had felt one day, from knowing that causing a bank robber to slip on a banana peel had halted a hostage situation and several casualties, was negated by the discovery that the second route fate could have taken – _a young girl in her first year of middle school sat alone on a park bench_ – had resulted in horror.

The reports on the case which Izuku had seen on the news specified that the police were struggling to put what little remained of the girl's body into a recognisable shape for identification.

Izuku couldn't eat the curry his mother made that night.

Too chunky.

He managed a mouthful under her watching, worried eyes, and asked her to save the rest as leftovers. Retreating to his room, stomach churning, Izuku waited until his mother had gone to bed. Then he dashed to the bathroom and threw up the heavy weight in his stomach alongside anything else it had to purge.

The curry was undiscernible amongst the bile.

The ten months following the ironically 'fateful' day had taken their toll – a fact that had not gone unnoticed by others. He'd lost weight. While Izuku had always been a slip of a thing, the unnatural display of his ribs, and the manner in which the nubs of his spine jutted out from beneath tight t-shirts were difficult to see in the mirror. Dark shadows hung underneath his lower eyes, like raging storm clouds over the splayed constellations of his freckles.

His mother apprehensively watched all of these changes happen during those ten months, just as he worriedly watched the changes fate made to those around him. They both felt as though something important was slipping from their fingertips, and that no matter what they did to prevent that from happening, whatever it was the two were desperately grasping hold of would eventually evade them.

Izuku had tried to shake off his lack of control; throwing himself into keeping watch over the fates of others with extreme vigilance as though to make amends with his Quirk for his prior selfishness.

The Sight consumed his time. It was distracting, having to figure out an easy method to stop a multi-car pileup on the motorway during double maths. With his Quirk consuming his focus, Izuku's grades had begun to slip. Not enough to irrevocably damage his future, but enough to draw attention from teachers who'd always ignored him before.

The teachers had left him alone, convinced, along with his mother he guessed, that Izuku's insistence that he had a Quirk was just a phase. He didn't lash out. They never caught instances of isolation between him and his peers. But sure enough one step wrong – tumbling grades – was enough to send the 'concerned' teachers into a flurry. All over one little blip.

So why couldn't these concerned teachers have noticed his desperation before? Why now, when he was hurt and stressed, did they have to butt in?

"I thought you wanted to get into Yuuei, Sweetheart," Inko softly placed her hand on his shoulder as they left the school's grounds; she'd been called in to speak with Izuku's homeroom teacher about the blip in his test scores and distractedness. The delicate bones protruded under her palm, and it was then that Inko realised Izuku could be broken.

He was fragile enough to be snapped – always had been – but nothing would break him like having to finally give up on Yuuei. Or rather, having to admit that the great pretence was over.

"I'll try harder from now on," Izuku whispered back. His teeth ground together; brow drawing sullenly underneath the mop of his fringe. "I just… didn't see the point of applying anymore if I can't…"

 _If I can't do anything without a Quirk,_ Inko's mind supplied.

 _If I can't openly help anyone with my Quirk,_ had been Izuku's train of thought.

Their walk home is silent.

Inko had bought him books on mythology for birthdays and Christmases – each recounting of ancient tales intensifying as he grew and matured. With the latest edition she had purchased, Inko now understood that the Cassandra Izuku idolised was beaten, and broken, but _tenacious._ Inko knew her son – beaten and broken and desperate to fit in even though he assured her daily that he already did – would continue this great scheme.

"They're understanding," Inko continued, threading her fingers through the limp green curls atop his head before removing her hand. She kept her housekeys in her bag and needs the hand to dig them out. Izuku waits patiently as she opens the front door to their apartment, but his body is tense.

Inko hated seeing him like this. "I'm sure they'll allow Quirkless students onto some of their courses – in fact, let's check their credentials!"

Izuku feels sick as she utters those words. 'I'm not Quirless!' he want to scream at her, but he doesn't. It's not his mother's fault that no one believes him. At this point, Izuku is beginning to suspect it was the Quirk itself.

He heads towards the kitchen, hoping that swilling iced tea in his mouth with distract him from the acrid peremptory taste of bile in his throat.

Before he'd ripped his own fate apart by clinging to All Might, Fate had assured Izuku a nice cushy place in Yuuei's General Education Department and a chance to graduate from a prestigious school with little to no disruption. During that timeline, if he'd been smart and manipulated minor events to his will, he could have avoided Bakugou for all three years of schooling.

However, he now only saw many dancing images of himself. Some span out of his control and bled away into nothingness. Others hurt for him to look at – let alone follow – such as the possible pathway that involved him becoming All Might's _successor_ of all things.

 _He Sees himself sat on the same pleather desk chair as he had when he was four. A hologram lights up the room. His tears are happy –_

The vision explodes into sepia and bubbles and distortion, like a reel of old film burning up in a cinema. Izuku's small form is dwarfed by All Might's size and the Hero's beaming smile in the vision, and now they are grotesquely melted beyond all recognition.

Izuku snorts. He'd blown that one possibility big time. Now it'd never be on the cards.

While his mother booted up the computer in his room – presumably to check Yuuei's policies and relevant inquiries into how they accepted students – he's struck with white-hot anger. His fingers grip at the kitchen worktop; knuckled popping and turning white from the pressure.

He should expect to be ignored and dismissed over his Quirk, because he always has been – but what use is knowing the future if you can't say anything? Can't tell anyone? What use is it if you can't use what you See to your advantage.

All he'd wanted to do was ask the Number One Hero if a presumed liar could do said Hero's job. Wanted to know if it was possible that one day, someone would believe. How had wanting to know something – wanting reassurance and approval – messed up his, and everyone else's whole lives?

Izuku already knew. Fate is fickle and apart from Izuku's minor meddling, about as easy to herd as cats are. You danced to the feline's – _Fate's_ – tune, not the other way around, and occasionally it would award you with the honour of petting its appealingly fluffy tummy.

Izuku was still so angry though. Something that he'd wanted for so long was now being denied. But then he realised it wasn't as though it had never been promised or an established outcome in the first place. Fate could be manipulated – there were dire consequences, yes, but it could happen. So far though, Izuku had only been scratching the surface of what his Quirk could do. Maybe it was time to do things his own way?

"Izuku! Sweetheart, they accept Quirkless students into other departments – just not Heroics!" Inko bursts into the kitchen, waving a piece of paper before her. It's an application form, he notes.

"Oh…" Izuku replies lamely. "Oh."

Something selfish curls in his gut; the writhing sensation outweighing how his Quirk pricks at his skin and the space behind his eyes in warning. He'd already done something very stupid before, according to Fate, so why not destroy these fractured pathways even further?

"A-are you okay with General Education?" His mother stutters. The form crumples a little as she tightens her grasp. Her excited grin is morphing into a grimace.

The pain refuses to go away, growing in intensity as a plan solidifies in his mind. He knows he should retreat to his room before his nose starts bleeding from the pressure behind his eyes, but his mother is looking at him with fragile hope in her dimmed smile.

Izuku mentally shakes himself. "I think so? I just didn't expect them to allow you to print forms from their website."

That's a pathetic lie, but Inko – if she notices – doesn't acknowledge it. "I've got to start dinner, but you go ahead and fill it in okay?"

"Sure," he answers breezily. "I think I'm going to print another one out just in case I mess the first one up."

Inko beams at him, and Izuku weakly smiles back.

It doesn't take him long to trace back through his mother's search history to the download page where she sourced the forms. He does not, however, print another application form for the Department of General Education.

"I've finished filling my form in," Izuku proudly tells his mother with a wide smile that she hasn't seen in months. "Do we have any envelopes?"

"I'll find one for you later and post it for you tomorrow," Inko replies. She's still stunned by the sudden improvement in his mood.

(Izuku's just glad she's believing him for now.)

"Thank you," he says, and smiles again. It doesn't reach his eyes.

* * *

Bubbling sepia blurs before his eyes. It results in broken legs, happiness, more brokenness, belonging and vomit and – the vision flares once more, and then there's nothing. Fate is not happy with him for trying out for the Heroics Department.

 _Do I…? Do I go and save her or…?_

She'd helped him out earlier, when Bakugou had silently stormed past him and near knocked Izuku to the ground. He hadn't caught her name, and now she was going to be crushed by a giant robot.

 _WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo-_

Fate was unresponsive. No visions unfold before him. No help will come.

His Quirk is _useless_ and – _is it_ _ **punishing him**_ _for doing the wrong thing?!_ With no other option, all he can do is spectate as the hulking robot jerks and flails and raises is foot once more to stomp at the ground.

Why can't he use his Quirk? What can he use instead of his Quirk?

 _"It's my Quirk. Sorry for using it on you without asking first."_

Izuku's eyes widen. He sprints into the carnage just as the other examinees turn tail and flee.

"Use your Quirk!" He screams, throat hoarse, as he draws closer to the trapped girl. Her lower body is clamped to the asphalt by the concrete exterior of a building the rampaging one-point robot had dislodged. "Use your Quirk to lift it and I'll pull you free!"

* * *

Izuku makes his way to Classroom 1-C. He seats himself at the back of the room (out of harm's way and close to the window), hoping that his choice would delay the inevitable.

Introducing yourself is a necessary (tedious) chore at the start of term at a new school. That doesn't mean Izuku is looking forward to it, no matter how much he's intrigued by other's Quirks – because that was the crux of the matter.

 _Quirks_.

It came without saying that new students were expected to introduce themselves by name and to provide a short synopsis of what their power entailed. Izuku, naturally, would try to comply to this format, yet time and time again he'd been denied.

– _We're regret to inform you that despite your Heroic actions and assistance in saving one Uraraka Ochako, we cannot at this time knowingly permit a Quirkless student to attend Yuuei's Department of Heroics. Should you choose to accept, the Department of General Education will_ –

The teachers had access to his records and would undoubtedly be notified if they had a Quirkless child under their tutelage. It wasn't a bad thing. They were also notified about students with 'volatile' powers too.

No, what Izuku was dreading was the reaction of his classmates.

Their homeroom teacher was recognisable enough. Pro-Heroes teaching in the General Education department was off-putting to Izuku though. It just didn't seem like their domain at all.

One by one, in numerical seat order, they introduced themselves. This was GenEd, so nobody stood out Quirk-wise. Their teacher flicked through his register, making a mark beside the last student's name. The teacher also carried with them a few other sheets of paper, from what Izuku could see at the back of the room, they contained a table to organise everyone in the class to make identification easier; images and the student's names to one side, relevant information on the student at the other.

The purple haired guy sat beside Izuku looks about as done with the whole situation as Izuku feels. Izuku can feel the boy's sigh deep in his bones; the expulsion of are is expressive of the boy's irritation. He's not impressed with this whole ordeal either then. Izuku watches distractedly as his purple-haired classmate looks to the window inquisitively. They're not too high up, and there are trees and shrubs below their classroom window. It'd be a soft enough landing and a broken leg at worst.

Perhaps Izuku should jump for it before he ends up as the social pariah for three schools on the run?

"-number nineteen? Seat number nineteen!"

Startled, Izuku rises from his seat, legs trembling. He wills himself to calm down as he sucks in a breath and says,"M-Midoriya Izuku… um… I can see the future?"

Silence. Then the subtle sound of their teacher shuffling his papers. The class begins to murmur: 'Why did that sound like a question?', 'Even Sensei looks confused…', 'Hey look he's shaking!'

The teacher is scanning his papers with laser-focus; the near-inaudible mutters as he checks the student information over are dissolving into grumbles and growls.

Izuku swallows; sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead, his fingers are twitching, _and no one believes him_.

"K-kidding!" He blurts, and instantly wants to slap his hands over his mouth _._ He didn't mean to say that – he **wasn't** going to say that. _He wasn't in control just then._ "Just kidding. I'm… Quirkless, actually."

A few of his bolshier classmates break into peals of laughter, congratulating Izuku on his joke about 'seeing the future'. He'd had the fooled, or so they admitted. There are no demanding comments about his status, yet Izuku still wants the ground to swallow him up and spit him out somewhere that isn't Classroom 1-C.

Tears are not the only thing to prick at his eyes. Fate is providing another cautionary notice.

"Sit down Midoriya. For a moment I thought there had been an admin error. I'm glad to see it was all just a joke," says their teacher – and can you hear _that_? _That_ is the sound of Izuku's hopes dashing to pieces once more.

That was that. That was the latest chance of anyone believing him about his Quirk gone. _Squandered._ If only he'd kept his mouth shut, then he wouldn't have to live with the label – the pretence – but the best thing about this whole disaster is that he's brought it upon himself.

"And finally, seat number twenty?"

"Shinso Hitoshi. My Quirk is called Brainwashing," the purple haired bo- _Shinso_ , states, and promptly slouches back into his seat. More frantic whispers ensue, with one noticeable word cutting through the hisses and worried mumbles.

 ** _Villain_** _._

Izuku glances over to Shinso's desk. The boy's eyes are narrowed and fiercely trained to those who'd spoken against him. There's a spark of something – resentment? – inside those eyes, but more importantly Izuku _knows_ that look.

Izuku wears it himself often.

He knows why Shinso's hands are curled into frustrated fists beneath his desk. Knows the downward curl of his lip and the scrunch of his eyebrows – because Izuku has worn the expression before, when he's trying not to cry. Izuku has had his own hands curl up tightly in much the same manner, because as much as Izuku doesn't want to hurt people (Heroes don't – _shouldn't_ – hurt people) he's sick and tired of not being listened to.

Ultimately, wanting to hit someone for their inability to hear you out was a common – if frowned upon – feeling for Izuku, and now it seemed Shinso shared in his suffering too.

Established stereotypes were enough to jeopardise your whole life and social worth. Lashing out only serves to reaffirm what people think about you. 'Villain' is Shinso's label, just as 'Quirkless' is Izuku's, and to shake off those terms is no easy feat.

Fate splits into a forked pathway before Izuku's eyes – each individual eye is filled with potentiality and risk, but the portrayal of the future within his left eye is the one Izuku chooses to pursue. He rubs at his temples, partly because his head hurts (and it's only nine in the morning) and partly to hide his smile.

If Izuku plays his cards right, he may finally have a friend – and more importantly, an ally.

* * *

 **I have no idea who 1-C's homeroom teacher is. I can't remember it from canon(/fanon), and I sure as hell can't find anything online, so chose to leave them, well, blank. Less personal that way I guess; the only other important character to factor in is Shinso.**

 **If anyone** can **dredge up any information, or even suggest a suitable candidate, don't hesitate to PM me. I was thinking Hound Dog, but again, chose not to specify.**


	4. If I Could Just Sit With You

**You Only Tell The Truth**

* * *

 _4\. If I Could Just Sit With You_

* * *

Something draws the two of them together.

Not Izuku's schemes, or even his unregistered Quirk. It's stronger than that. There's a chain that links and spans between them; extending each afternoon as Shinso leaves to go home, as Izuku stutters a 'Goodbye', and Shinso just _grunts_ in response.

It's not metallic in the same sense that most chains are, though their bond is just as firm as forged iron. Slowly it's weaving itself into a reddened string, binding both himself and Shinso together both inside and beyond the walls of Yuuei. It's organically woven – mutual feelings of spite, regret, and resentment manifesting in the bloody hue of a metaphysical rope.

Izuku hopes it's a good thing. That the rope looping around their hands, fingers, and necks is more than their shared negativity.

Izuku is convinced that no one but himself can see the progression of the red thread as the days go by. That no one can see how the rope trails itself up Shino's torso – right over his heart – the first time Izuku suggests that they should go and eat lunch together. Shino refused that day and has done so ever since.

 _So much for trying to be Shinso's friend._

The rope had trailed after him as the purple-haired teen slunk from 1-C's classroom. Izuku had debated following the trail he left behind, though he resisted. The rope had never pulled taut before, and Izuku was fairly sure that unless it frayed or one day snapped, that it would remain coiled about his own body indefinitely.

Sometimes people just needed their space.

Ironic, seeing as the two were bound together.

A week into his first term at Yuuei, and Izuku's certain that red strings are not supposed to fit with his own Quirk. He was far too similar to Cassandra, if not her very reincarnation. Disbelieved for knowing the future, shunned and ridiculed for attempting to help or announce their gifts to the world, betrayers of bargains who are punished, should they do just so, for eternity. However, Cassandra and Izuku's Sight were exclusive to this new development; Grecian in both their mythos and basis.

How did the so called 'red string of fate' wind its way into this situation?

Izuku wondered whether this was the instability he had felt when meddling with Fate all those months ago coming back to haunt him.

Perhaps, it was a latent ability within his own power? It had all started in China after all. **(1)**

Seeing phantom strings between himself and another person – and _only_ that person, maybe that meant that they were 'future' strings? A bond that would occur and grow in intensity surely some time soon, or even just a potentiality of a bond like the layers upon layers of visions Izuku Saw.

It made Izuku's head spin just thinking about it.

Fate so far, had be relatively quiet. The need for him to make consequential choices regarding two conflicting paths of the future were no longer at the foreground of his ability. That, or the varied degrees of catastrophes were no longer as drastic.

Izuku was glad for it. His migraines had finally stopped.

Trying to take the train every morning with your vision blurred – both literally and by your own Quirk – was a nightmare. He'd been walking through his day like phantasmagoria was the only thing he could perceive. It got easier over time, of course, and certain things stood out to Izuku to help him along the way. Shinso's hair, the red of the rope, the back of Bakugou's head as Izuku turned and ran away from the boy in the hall (desperate not to be noticed), and the fluorescent lighting inside of their classroom that made the whole room look hazy and warm.

Despite it not being the Hero Course, Izuku could say he was enjoying his time amongst those in the General Education Department. A few were bitter, Shinso one of them, over the fact that they were not deemed to be suited to Heroics solely because of their physicality. Yet, for the most part, Izuku's classmates were welcoming and as warm as the migraine-warped fluorescent lights.

They didn't seem to mind that he was 'Quirkless'. They laughed it off whenever he ruined the plot of the upcoming chapter in a manga or tipped them off if something strange was going to happen that afternoon. It was wrote off as one of those 'Midoriya Things' he did; like how his face could change from expressive and open to a porcelain mask in a pinch, or the soft lilt of his voice that made his female classmates flock to him as though he were a wounded woodland creature.

Never once had his classmates made to harm him – emotionally or physically – and though Shinso was somewhat pushed to the side, the animosity initially present in the classroom during that first homeroom session had dispersed. All of those present in 1-C who had attempted acceptance into Heroics banded together; they were a family of potential rejects now.

Shinso remembered it though. **_Villain_** **.** Izuku could tell in the way his eyes would narrow; the subtle curl in the teen's lip and the darkened bags under his eyes.

However, within a school that lorded superior physical Quirks over others, 1-C was a sanctuary. A sanctuary that Izuku almost hated to leave at the end of the day.

Izuku waited, most of the time, for there not to be a single soul left in the corridor. Creeping his way through the halls and the grounds like a ghost. You could never be too certain when Bakugou would appear – even with Sight. Ever since that day (red eyes glaring – _knowing_ that Izuku had cowered instead of saving him) Fate and Katsuki Bakugou did not like to intermingle.

It was as though Izuku was standing on a precipice whenever the blond was cornered; his toes curling over the ledge high above something deep and dark and frightening. Something that promised pain and unpleasantness.

 _– Was it guilt? –_

Therefore, under the guise of staying behind to study in peace or catching a later train, Izuku would wait for the school to be totally vacated before he left. If he couldn't rely on his Visions for a warning, then he'd have to rely on his own two eyes, migraine or not.

For the most part, it worked.

How many people would walk through the halls like they owned them? Hands crackling with sparks and flashes and smoke, a cold sneer, ruby red eyes? What of the hair that surrounded Katsuki Bakugou's head like an explosive halo?

How could you mistake that? It was easy enough to avoid someone so long as you knew what – who – you were looking out for. And where to hide.

Safety was provided in the 1-C sanctuary. It was a holy place that, when inside, Izuku could eat his bento in peace. Often his classmates would come and chat with him after eating in the cafeteria – Shinso silently slouching into his seat when he returned too, trying to not look like he was interested in their conversations.

People were a useful blockade; a series of tangible flesh and blood screens to help hide Izuku Midoriya from someone who he _knew_ would come and hurt him should the latter discover him inside this school.

The principal of Izuku's middle school hadn't pulled him into the office with Bakugou about their acceptance to Yuuei; only Heroics students were worthy of being commended, and Izuku, obviously, was not going to be a Hero. Bakugou didn't know Izuku Midoriya walked these halls alongside him. Didn't know he hid round corners, in bathrooms, and behind people to avoid confrontation.

Izuku didn't need Sight to know that should they meet it would not be pretty.

He needed to be careful.

He wasn't careful enough.

 _"Do you want to get lunch together?"_

It was only one simple question, but it was enough to turn Izuku's world on it's side once more – just like clinging to All Might had. He could feel the red rope between him and Shino wind its way up his body; coiling and twisting and knotting into something irreproachable as he responded-

"S-sure."

The red string was a noose about his neck. Shinso stood from his desk, a smile or a smirk – Izuku couldn't tell, but whatever it was it was endearing – on his face.

"C'mon then, Midoriya."

The slipknot had tightened enough to choke him.

Izuku eagerly followed Shinso the cafeteria.

* * *

Throughout their lunch break, Izuku couldn't shake the sensation of eyes upon his body.

Like tiny ants crawling along his spine, raised hairs along the nape of his neck – it was an itch he couldn't quite _scratch_. The feeling would spike intensely at certain instants, to a sharp cooling stab to his spine that made him flinch.

Shinso kept looking at him oddly but chose to keep his silence. Probably, he'd decided that Izuku staring into space and trying to gouge his fingers deep into the itchy skin at the back of his head was just one of those Midoriya Things.

Izuku presumed he should be happy that Shinso had even talked to him, let alone invited him to eat lunch together. But the feeling was distracting and Shinso wasn't exactly a master conversationalist – neither was Izuku honestly, and he assumed probing Shinso for details about the teen's Quirk would be a taboo.

They returned to their classroom in silence.

The day progressed.

The final bell rung.

Izuku bid his classmates goodbye but made no attempt to follow them out. 'I'm starting the homework early,' he'd tell them if they asked. Shinso hovered by the doorway, mouth working itself up into a frenzy trying to find the right thing to say. Izuku tilted his head curiously, and Shinso scowled. The purple-haired teen shook his head, curling his lip and walking out of the classroom without a word.

With a frown, Izuku turned his attention back to his Maths homework. Successfully solving the problems on his page wasn't exactly the same as resolving those between him and other people, but it made him feel better if only for a short while.

Then the classroom door flung open, and the desks around his own set alight. Izuku, for all of his foresight, found himself splayed painfully across the floor with no idea how he got there.

His ears _rang_.

His already blurred vision became less focused and even more indecipherable than it had been recently.

"What the fuck are you doing here, huh-"

Hands grab at Izuku's collar, and sluggishly, the boy tries to pry them away. The fabric singes – Izuku can smell it _whatawasteofashirt_ – and suddenly he's lifted off his back momentarily before his skull crashes against the floor once more.

Stars burst behind his eyes, and Izuku cries out – hands clawing in front of him. For protection? To fight back? For stability? All he knows is _this isn't a visions – this is pain and hell does it_ _ **hurt**_ _._

He doesn't know what is happening. He is panicked, and the world is dark and spinning, and the hands will not remove themselves from his collar. A weight holds Izuku's lower body down; his legs are useless, not strong enough to lash out or to try and unseat whoever is sat upon his torso. Izuku knows who it is holding him down, but he would rather not acknowledge it-

"-fucking shitty day, and then you decide to turn up! Coward-"

-because he'd been doing so well. Had been avoiding Katsuki Bakugou-

He can't breathe, the spinning won't stop, and now his Quirk has exploded into life. There are multiple ways this can end depending on Izuku's next moves; the next option more horrifying from the last.

 _A bloodied, singed smear of a body remains on the floor. Slowly it moves, piecing itself together, finding it's way home and forgetting about the carnage left behind. Someone will clean it up, but now he must tend to his injuries. He is alone. The pain is immeasurable. Perhaps he should try to sleep it off?_

 _A trip to the hospital leads to more than just medical treatment. His mother is taken from him, because Izuku is too thin, too unstable to live in that environment anymore._

 _His childhood friend is unseated from on top of his body as Izuku finally gains the strength to do so – panicking he finds the nearest thing and launches it at the person who attacked him. His own_ friend _. The person does not stand after the chair collides with their temple._

 _Things escalate. Jump jump jump jump jump – or… let him push you out of that window. Tell him what he wants to hear, infuriate him further,_ he'll do it _. You won't have to suffer without anyone not believing you anymore._

 _Or –_

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"… _Shinso_ …" Izuku breathes, trying his best not to cry from relief.

Shinso is here. Shinso will help take the pain, the pressure on his body, away. The red thread curls around Izuku's body like a comfort blanket, and instantly, the pressure lifts. White light fills Izuku's eyes as he gulps down a big breath, oxygen sweeping through his body once more. It had been hard to breathe under all that weight.

"Tch," huffs Izuku's attacker. "This isn't fucking over, Deku."

The stomping footsteps move away after they kick Izuku in the ribs.

Shinso is blocking the only doorway.

A standoff ensues.

Katsuki's palms begin to crackle.

The sanctuary of 1-C is an illusion. People are not always the best thing to hide behind. Public spaces are areas where you can be easily noticed, especially if someone knows what – _who_ – they are looking for. Katsuki Bakugou is no friend of Izuku Midoriya's anymore. His own bond with Hitoshi Shinso will either be the best thing to happen in Izuku's life, or the death of him.

Maybe it was better when Izuku had no friends to call his own. There were less people to watch over then, and no one would care if something happened to him. Shinso had better watch his back where Bakugou is concerned.

The two haven't moved from the doorway. Izuku wants to get to his feet, to try and stop them from squaring off, but his legs refuse when he commands them to move and something wet and sticky is pooling through the curls on the back of his head. He groans, twisting to his side and wincing as pain lances across his skull.

"I'll ask again: what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"None of your fucking bus-"

 _"Go and find the nearest teacher and tell them what you've just done."_

Though Izuku cannot see it, Katsuki's eyes are blank and glassy. Shinso moves to the side so that the blond can pass through the doorway; he marches off on his task without a complaint.

"Was that your Quirk?" Izuku asks quietly from the floor.

Shinso tiptoes his way through the carnage, kneeling by the other boy's side. "Yeah. Don't move, your head is bleeding."

"S'cool," Izuku slurs. He coughs; "It's a cool Quirk."

Shinso squeezes Izuku's hand. His voice sounds wet and thick with emotion when he answers. "Thanks, I guess. Hey Midoriya? Can you do something for me?"

"Hmm… wha-"

" _Stay awake."_

Until three of Yuuei's faculty, a dazedly confused Bakugou, and Recovery Girl arrive at 1-C's classroom, Izuku complies with Shinso's command. When they take charge, Shinso lightly taps Izuku on the arm, and with the control broken, Izuku's eyes flutter closed.

* * *

 **(1)** I'm referring to the Red Thread of Fate/Marriage (read into that all you want!) from Chinese mythology, along with he opening monologue of _Boku no Hero Academia;_ "It all started in..."

 **This was so difficult to write. I lost my muse shortly after Chapter Three, so I started with another project called** ** _Heartbreaker? Pfffsh…_** **that you might have seen published on here.**

 **I knew this Chapter would be difficult to write. I wanted to emulate the part of Cassandra's myth where she seeks shelter in Athena's temple (so, Izuku's safety inside 1-C), but is defiled by Ajax inside said temple – which is a major taboo; no sex, consensual or otherwise, was permitted inside sacred places. Katsuki charging in and attempting to seriously harm Izuku was supposed to mirror this, with Shinso acting as Athena; firstly, diverting his eyes by choosing to walk away from the classroom, and by later returning to punish the perpetrator, just as Athena could not bear to watch Cassandra's defilement and later returning to kick arse with the help of Poseidon and Zeus when people refused to see Ajax for what he really was.**

 **I feel like I really haven't done this enough justice, but hopefully I'm on the right track to finish this story in Chapter Five.**

 **On another note, has anyone been playing/watching playthroughs of** ** _Detroit: Become Human_** **? On one hand, I want to analyse the shit out of it, and the other, invest far too much time and money into cosplay costumes.**


	5. You Only Tell The Truth

**You Only Tell The Truth**

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5 _. You Only Tell The Truth_

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In all his years as a Hero –as All Might– Yagi Toshinori has been exposed to some horrific sights. Behind his eyes when he eventually drifts into a restless few hours of sleep are the faces of those from his career who he did not say 'I am here!' to in time. The people who were dead and gone long before All Might descended from the skyline and hefted the rubble off from on top of them. Those who he had to leave behind because the Villain had to be dealt with first. Those he wasn't quick enough to pull out harm's way. Those who bled openly over All Might's façade as he carted them to the ambulance.

People who weren't his priority, people who died despite his efforts, and those who were gone because Toshinori had failed to prevent their demise. They swam in his mind and he choked, _drowned,_ over the guilt he felt for them. In this business though, one saved just as many lives as those they could not –more so, often– but that did not stop the ghosts from haunting you.

Toshinori had seen harmless members of the public snap and take those in their vicinity with them. He'd held back the elements while staging a mass evacuation. He'd arrived too late at a Villain's massacre. But All Might –and his alternate form, Yagi Toshinori– had never seen someone so bright and promising turn on one of their own before.

Stood before him outside of Class 1-A's classroom was young Bakugou; his eyes glazed, his knuckles bruised and bloodied. Splinters of wood had weaselled their way between the tightly woven fibres of the boy's uniform – thrown like artless darts in irregular shards around his knees and hips.

"What has happened, young-"

"I beat the shit out of stupid Deku," Bakugou answered robotically. "I kicked his head in. I used my Quirk. The room is a fucking tip. I wanted to kill him, 'cos he looks down on me – the Quirkless fuck."

"- _Bakugou_." Toshinori feels as though his innards have turned to ice. There is no feeling other than all-encapsulating, freezing horror inside of him.

"It felt good. I _enjoyed_ it. He deserves it, he deserved it – and then I got told to tell someone."

The fog, for lack of a better term, lifts from over Bakugou's mind when Toshinori reaches out and grabs the boy. The slack and vacant expression he wore moments prior sharpens into its usual sneer, grit teeth, and ferocious glare with the application of pressure on his shoulders and a light warning squeeze. Sparks dance off of the teen's palms in irritation.

"The fuck just happened, one minute I was-" Katsuki's mouth clamps shut, and he catches his words before they can spill from his mouth.

"One minute you were what, young Bakugou?" Toshinori inquires, towering over the unimpressed teen. "Assaulting another student, perhaps? Which student, in particular? What department?"

"Stupid fuck was asking for it, he's been goading me since we were kids," Bakugou spat. "Stupid Deku, from the shitty Gen Ed department here."

Toshinori is gone, sprinting down the hall before any more bile can spew from Bakugou Katsuki's crooked lips. Belatedly, and still fighting off the disorientation that resulted from Shino using his Quirk, Bakugou followed behind the Hero, back to the scene of his crime. Back to where Shinso Hitoshi was just about keeping Midoriya with them in the land of the living while other faculty members arrived, alerted by the sounds of explosions and the flood of unease filling the hallways.

"He's only just passed out," a boy who could have been Aizawa's carbon copy (if not for the fact that his hair was completely the wrong colour and the eyebags more pronounced) told Toshinori. Recovery Girl scuttled into the room as fast as she could, setting a heavy medical case beside a worryingly still Izuku.

The more Toshinori looked at the scene of devastation around him –in an environment where the aforementioned should never have happened– the more 1-C's classroom became near unrecognisable. Desks lay splintered and charred, metal table and chair legs warped from the heat. Scorn marks lined the walls and the ceiling; cracks stretched like spider webs across the wide window panes. And the blood…

How could one person, so small and fragile, contain so much fluid? Beneath that tousled mop of green curls (and Toshinori's gut wrenched in recognition, because he'd met this child before) a pool of blood had collected; dripping sluggishly now from the lacerations on the boy's face. Other than the smell of charred wood from their surroundings, another scent filled the air. Almost like a barbeque gone horribly wrong, where the food had fallen into the coals and had been left to burn.

Aizawa's copy seemed to realise where the smell originated from too, eyes flicking to Izuku's hole-riddled clothing. The purple-haired boy's hand managed to clasp itself over his mouth before he could heave, and heavy breaths could be heard as Shinso willed himself and the waste paper basket outside to the hall.

Recovery Girl worked methodically; unwrapping Midoriya Izuku as gently as she could from the remnants of his Yuuei uniform. Worried about his unconscious state, but not willing to rouse the child because of the undoubted surge of pain it would case him, the elderly medic worked as quickly to clean and treat his burnt and splinter punctured skin, and to staunch the sluggish bleeding around his head. Then, and only then, would she use her Quirk on the poor boy.

"How did none of us notice this?" Recover Girl muttered under her breath, but Toshinori heard her loud and clear. "That boy sent one of his classmates to my infirmary during your training session, All Might; action should have been taken then to prevent something similar happening – and yet here I am, patching up someone else he has lashed out at."

"We can not be sure that young Bakugou did lash out-" Toshinori blustered.

"He did," came confirmation from the doorway. Shinso grimaced, clutching the waste paper basket close in case he needed it (he hadn't so far, but all colour had dropped from his face). "Midoriya wouldn't hurt anyone. He's the class clown – said he could see the future on our first day here, despite being Quirkless. He's too kind for his own good; couldn't fight his way out of wet paper bag, and if I had just…"

"If you had just what?"

"If I had just stayed with him, if I hadn't walked away, then maybe this wouldn't have happened," Hitoshi whispered.

The wet smack of Recovery Girl planting a kiss on Izuku's forehead ricocheted around the destroyed classroom, and both Toshinori and Hitoshi flinched.

"I think I have him stabilised," the elder stated, beginning the lengthy process of smearing burn ointments along the injured teen's torso and arms, and then wrapping the skin to protect it. "We'll have to move him though; I want to be closer to my equipment."

Hitoshi trailed after All Might and Recovery Girl, watching two specially programmed medic-bots carry Izuku away on a stretcher. The number one Hero's hands rested briefly on Hitoshi sagging shoulders.

"You could not have known what could have happened had you not have stayed, young one," All Might nodded gravely. "You cannot take that blame upon yourself; only a select few people have Quirks that show a possible future. I highly doubt you are one of them."

If only Toshinori knew.

* * *

Consciousness eluded Izuku for the longest time.

Sometimes, in his dreams, the curse of his Cassandrian Quirk would haunt him. Relaying events from the prior day and warping them; sort of like macabre action replays. Not even in sleep was Izuku granted a reprieve from his Quirk. The majority of the time though when Izuku dreamt, other than the recantations of the outcomes of his questionable choices, there would be a glimmer of hope. Simple snippets of what might have been, what may come, who he could have been. They were at best, upsetting for their purity, and at worst, crippling, to him who suffered under the pressure of his Sight.

Thankfully, whatever Bakugou had done to him, or whatever someone had prescribed in the aftermath, kept Izuku numb. There had been times growing up when researching into his Quirk (shortly before he'd crushingly realised that no one could ever know –and would never know– what his Quirk entailed) where Izuku read up about prophets. False though they might have been, he read of those at Delphi and how experts now thought fumes or ingesting toxic plants were what caused the oracles to communicate their prophecies. He learnt in a much later age, how people were inspired by the substances they consumed; opium-eaters who became so dependent on their poison that they wasted into nothingness. The latter was a double-edged sword. As liberating as those drugs may have been, they corroded the user beyond recognition. Dependency for creativity soon morphed into dependency for desensitisation, and later, just to struggle through the monotonous throes of each day.

If Izuku had been allowed to dampen his Sight with medicines, would he have been the same person he was today? Would he have suffered just as much, or could he have lived life as an innocuous percentage of the population, blissfully aware that his powers were useless to everyone but himself? Would he have rotted like those who abused their hallucinogenic habits? Would it have made a difference at all or would Izuku have been oblivious to the hurt, and the multiple branching pathways of fate, and how someone he once considered his friend could wreck his body?

The days of his recovery from Bakugou's attack are punctuated with painkillers, sloppy healing kisses, people holding on to his less injured hand, and more radio silence. Izuku's Quirk crackles in the background like white noise – desperate to share images and pathways but having no authority to do so while the drugs course around his system.

For the brief moments where Izuku is lucid, his Quirk reaches out tentatively. The things that he Sees happening are gentle, almost _friendly_ , coming from a Quirk that acts as the harbinger of catastrophes on a daily basis. Little things like his mother entering his partitioned section of the room in Yuuei's infirmary – Shino too. The way the red rope binding the two boys has strengthened. Sometimes, Izuku's Quirk shows him his appearance. If he's lucky it's the bandages. If not, then the burn scars –slowing morphing from angry red to silver– which span his body; lightening with every smooch Recovery Girl pressed to his flesh.

"Awake are we finally?" Croaks a voice to Izuku's left. Dazedly his eyes roll to find the source. Recovery Girl peers down at her patient. "About time too; any longer and I would have had to hand you over to my colleagues at Musutafu General. What ever happened for you to end up in this state child?"

Izuku wants to respond, he really does, but his tongue lays limp in his mouth – though he isn't sure whether it is from disuse or from his Quirk keeping schtum.

"Hmm," the elderly medic hums. "Give it an hour or so and you'll be more coherent. We'll speak then. For now, however, you just listen while I rattle off your injuries, and we'll see about getting you fixed up with something to eat."

Slowly he is allowed to sit up; to eat, and to drink. His parched throat rejoices. His tongue remains unwieldy in his mouth. He wants to speak to someone _desperately_. Something deep inside of him tells Izuku he can't.

The silence continues over the next few days. Izuku reintegrates himself into school, Quirkless and now mute. The teachers haven't been able to get a statement out of him yet, not even a written explanation – and they have grown desperate. Bakugou roams the halls, hindered but free; there is enough evidence to bring about his expulsion, but no cooperation from Izuku to confirm what the teachers discovered in that classroom.

All Might grows despondent at the sight of green curls and lifeless green eyes (he has had a hand in killing this boy's spirit, he realises, in his negligence of improving young Bakugou's temper). Eventually, when no methods seem to reach Izuku Midoriya, force remains the only option. Toshinori bows his head, swallows his pride, and dials a number in his contact list that has remained untouched for many years. There is only one person he knows, and is -was- on great enough terms with to call in a favour. Only one person that will oblige if the situation is dire enough, and who can glean an individual's lifetime in one touch and glance.

Izuku can't help but feel like he's being punished for suffering under Bakugou Katsuki's abuse. That now he's no longer allowed to talk on top of being unable to communicate what he Sees. Slowly, pathways emerge once more, and trouble brews on the horizon.

A crumbling gate, a monstrous bird-man, hands, and death loom over the burn-scared boy's shoulders. It feels _bad_. It's _going_ to be **_bad_**. Izuku can do nothing about it. There is no way out.

It all comes to blows when an old acquaintance of All Might's arrives at Yuuei. His pristine white suit, worn under a thick woollen coat, is blinding in the Spring sunshine; shining brighter than the future Izuku Sees. The teen is called to the Headmaster's office, and there awaits All Might and his estranged sidekick, Sir Nighteye. The latter's face is pinched with disapproval, and All Might frowns as his once closest compatriot peels off one winter glove and stretches a hand out at a panicking Izuku. Izuku knows what Nighteye's Quirk does – what those fingers, and later his eyes, will See. What he doesn't know is what _his_ Quirk will do to the man.

"Let's get this over with, shall we," says Sir, laying a hand on Izuku's forehead –trapping a few springy green-tinted curls under his palm– and staring intently in deadened green eyes.

 _N O !_

Nighteye stills instantly. His fingers begin to tremble. It has to be excruciating for the Hero, if what he feels is similar to Izuku, to view Izuku Midoriya's life in one sitting (to See what he Sees). Pain lances out from Izuku's head; eyes, ears, and cranium rattling with untraceable shudders over the wrongness of one Seer clashing with another. His mind feels vulnerable. The lines of Fate he views instinctively warp like a fogged lens; the colours blurring together and intensifying like a saturated and overly-exposed photograph.

Izuku doesn't like this at all – _make it stop_ , he and his Quirk cry. _Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop-_

"I though you said that this boy was Quirkless, Headmaster," Nighteye gasped, eventually managing to pull his hand and eyes away. "And if this is a joke, I can assure you it is in poor taste."

"Midoriya Izuku has no listed Quirk in his medical file and was diagnosed as such from the age of four," Nedzu squeaked in return.

Utterly fed up with the return of the painful headaches his Quirk caused, and discovering that he could, in fact, articulate once more, Izuku snapped; "I've tried to tell people time and time again that _I am not Quirkless!"_

His foot stomped against the ground; temper reaching its peak. Then, he slaps his hands over his mouth. Cassandra could never speak of her gift, and yet…

Izuku burst into hysterical laughter. "Only joking, I am."

…there it was.

"Extraordinary," Sir Nighteye breathed. A trickle of blood drips down from his nose and narrowly misses the front of his suit jacket. Izuku rubs at his own nose. Red smears the side of his hand. "It won't let you acknowledge that you have- _urk_ -"

The worlds garble in Sir Nighteye's mouth and in the ears of those present in the room listening. Izuku hangs his head, watching the man choking on his own voice and scrabbling at his throat desperately for breath.

"Don't fight it," he says, and Nighteye's bewildered gaze lands on the boy. "I'm not able to say anything either."

"We both S̶̗͓̋̓͂̽ę̴̩̲͎̺̰̭̆̓͛͆͋̈́̉e̶̯̳͕̎," Nighteye protests, persevering through whatever element of Izuku's Quirk is binding him. "How…?"

Izuku shrugs. He wished he could only spill the truth, but no one would believe him even if he tried.

* * *

 **A/N [05/11/2018] : Okay, so it's only been nearly five months since I updated this story. (Sorry?)**

 **There's something I'd like to address about that actually, other than my total lack of muse for this after Chapter Four. I did a lot of writing over the summer (2018) for a few different fandoms (more work than I've produced in a looooooooooooong time actually…), and it sort of drained me, and shit happened, and my life changed, and I lost my way with this story.**

 **Looking back on it now, while this fic deserved to finally have its no doubt crappy ending, I was never too sure about where I was going to take it outside of the general consensus of 'Izuku has a Quirk but guess what he can't tell anyone about it –** ** _literally!'_** **. I also feel, having caught up on the BnHA Manga and Anime, that I know these characters a little better than I did when I started YOTTT. While I'll never be a huge fan of Bakugou –though I can see why the character appeals to some people– I don't think that my interpretation of him here matches up with his canonical growth (or rather, in the case of this story, his lack thereof and pejorative to canon behaviour.)**

 **So yes, I'm treating this story as a little experiment. I owe it to all of you readers, reviewers, and Kudos-givers out there to finish off this project, but I'm never going to be 100% happy with it because of the changes to my own knowledge and style, and because I really don't like my characterisation here. Still, as a method of testing out my AU skills (which later developed** ** _Orbit_** **and other various short pieces for BnHA), and as a display of just how long I can procrastinate over writing for something –my record is just over a year now, please don't hate me** ** _Pom-Pom Pom!_** **readers– YOTTT is long overdue for it's final update.**

 **I must apologise for the wait and thank you so much for sticking with me.**

 **-Yuilhan**

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 **Musical Inspiration**

* * *

"Cassandra" – Sophie Ellis-Bextor, 'Familia' (2016)

"Lonely Boy" – Andrew Gold, 'What's Wrong With This Picture?' (1976)

"Hurricane Drunk" – Florence + the Machine, 'Lungs' (2009)

"Dark Night" – Philip Sheppard, 'Detroit: Become Human (Original Soundtrack)' (2018)

"Take Me To Church" – Hozier, 'Hozier' (2014)

"Holding Out for a Hero" – Nothing But Thieves, 'Holding Out For a Hero (From the Trailer for "Vikings" – Series Two)' (2015)


	6. URGENT ANNOUNCEMENT

**UPDATE 18/1/2019**

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This is just a quick announcement that I'm going to delete at a later date, but it was brought to my attention by reviewer **DeepWound78** that the rating of this story was not suitable for the story's content. Thank you for bringing this to my attention DeepWound, because I was sure I had changed the rating, but apparently not. I'm posting this update chapter because this was the only was I could make contact with you.

That being said, I've upped the rating for K+ to Teen now. I've not been frequenting Fan Fiction as much as I have AO3 recently, and I feel like the latter's tagging system has spoiled me as an author. The tags on AO3 are far more transparent and considerate of potential triggers, though I'm going to review my story and retag for anything I might have missed on there too.

If anyone reading _You Only Tell The Truth_ has found the misleading rating and content within the story upsetting, I sincerely apologise. It was not my intention to mislead you, or to place you in a position of discomfort.

Thank you again to everyone who has taken the time to read and review on this story. I must apologise again for my negligence, and will ensure not to make the same mistake again.

-Yuilhan

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 **EDIT 20/05/2019**

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Hooo boy it's finally happened! The first(?) negative review of YOTTT! I'm actually kind of grateful for it, y'know? As this was from an anon reviewer I can't PM and converse with them that way. So I'm going to leave their comment here and respond in kind, just in case they ever decide to revisit YOTTT (which I find unlikely). I'm not starting anything, I don't want any drama, I just want to unpack their review and try and clarify a few points.

" _Straight up, this is stupid. All of it. A sh*t ton of angst, a sh*t ton of "waaaaah,_

 _I can't do anything because reasons", and with how you made the quirk and people act rather than react,_

 _this story is sh*t. I can't bring myself to even read chapter 3 or more. It sucks."_

First of all, thank you for your comment, anon reviewer! Any feedback is much obliged because it helps me in the future. It would be better if you weren't anonymous so we could discuss writing, because you could quite have literally helped me to improve this story's flaws if that were the case. Yes, I acknowledge that this story is flawed. This is what happens when you write something spontaneously and don't have the plot/research/time to develop it. There are gaps. It reads back in a way that is disjointed. The tone changes every other chapter because I took huge gaps between writing and publishing each chapter (to be fair, I was writing my Undergraduate Dissertation at the time).

Angst is really difficult to write, and I respect authors who can. So are AU's. AU authors walk a very delicate line because they have to convincingly hold the canon world hostage and superimpose their own rules and ideas over that world. Sometimes it works really well and the story is well received. Sometimes it is universally hated. Sometimes it is an experiment and there are mixed reviews. _You Only Tell The Truth_ , for me as an fic author, was the latter. An **experiment**. I do not write angst. I write mainly for comedy and romance. So yeah, the story is going to be stupid, and melodramatic, and quite possibly a load of poop, because I have no prior experience writing for the angst genre.

As for not liking what I'm doing with characters, Quirks, and actions, that's okay. You do you. YOTTT was a test to see if I could write something more serious, and later that same year I wrote _Orbit_ and started _Late Hero Academia_. I'm glad that you decided to jump ship after a certain point, because if the story doesn't appeal to you it is fine to do so. I do it all the time; if I don't agree, like, or find something interesting, I'm not going to read it entirely. What I don't like is that you chose to degrade what has been written, and I most certainly hope that you don't comment on other author's works in a similar manner. I'm not young and impressionable. I'm not just starting out on FF or AO3. Other people are not in that position; they could just be posting their first fic, so I hope you don't choose to belittle their writing if you find it to be 'sh*t'.

A lot of writers are nervous about posting what they write. Maybe next time you could back out gracefully if you don't like a story, or perhaps you could word your comment in a more constructive manner? I'm always open to conversations about writing, and I accept PM's and reviews - both good and bad. So, thank you once again for your review!

To everyone who has commented on, favourited, and followed this story, thank you so much for your support.


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